The Most Improper Behaviour
by Maple Fay
Summary: Last in the "Improper" series. An insight into Charles and Elsie's married life, and the changes they come to deal with. Rated M for a reason, and I don't mean cursewords.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Yes, yes, I know I have the R/E story to work on, too, but I need some familiar ground to tread upon from time to time, to keep everything plausible enough and maintain my balance… also, my Muse and I agree that multitasking is vital for maintaining a high level of creativity._

_Therefore, I give you the first chapter of the last in the 'Improper' series: an insight into Charles and Elsie's married life, and, upon many request I'd been getting, their relationship with their 'adopted grandson', Robbie Branson. It will be a straightforward fluff and smut, with just a touch of angst here and there._

_I'm quite tired of putting the 'be careful, this chapter is steamy' warnings into every second instalment, so I decided to rate this story 'M'—although I have no idea if I manage to pull the descriptions off, since my only 'real' smut story was the Lovejoy/Lady Jane one… you shall be the judges of that, I believe._

_Also, I still don't own any of the characters I write about, with the possible exception of Robbie. I make no profit out of this, and I mean no harm to anybody._

_Please let me know what you think, if you have the time!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1, or: When Plans Go Amiss<strong>

May 31, 1922

A warm, summer afternoon on a Sunday should have been just that: warm, quiet and peaceful.

And yet, as Elsie and her companion reached the drawing room door, they were greeted by a bustle of voices that sounded neither peaceful nor warm.

Mrs. Branson's strong alto dominated the others for the moment. "Are you trying to tell me you've lost our child _again_, Tom?"

"Now, Sybil, I wouldn't exactly say I'd _lost_ him… misplaced, perhaps, but—"

Elsie rolled her eyes, trying hard to suppress a smile. For such independent and strong willed a man, Tom Branson seemed to have been completely dominated by his lovely wife. And it was a high time to save him, for the former Lady Sybil Crawley could be quite difficult to handle once she turned into a lioness protecting her cub.

Having this in mind, Elsie pushed the door in and stepped forward. "Begging your pardon, Mrs. Branson—I think I have located the 'misplaced' individual."

Sybil Branson jumped to her feet and crossed the room with astonishing speed, sweeping her son Robbie off the floor and making his little, puffy hand slip away from Elsie's. "Oh, Mrs. Hu—_Carson_—thank you so much! Where on Earth did you find him?"

"He wandered off into the servants' hall again, ma'am," Elsie answered with a smile, reaching out to ruffle the boy's wavy, dark red hair. "Mr. Carson found him playing outside our office door." Since the wall between the butler's pantry and the housekeeper's parlour had been demolished, and exchanged for a flimsy, removable half-screen, the family and servants took up calling the whole working space 'an office' to avoid confusion.

"No, not _again_! Robbie, how many times do I have to tell you: stop pestering Mrs. Carson! You have your own family for this!" She kissed her son soundly on both cheeks, making him laugh out loud. "You'll be a good boy and spend the rest of the day with us, won't you now?"

Before the boy could in any way acknowledge his mother's request, there was a commotion in the hallway, and suddenly a decidedly male and sweaty body collided with Elsie's, almost knocking her down to the floor.

She whirled on the spot, ready to give whatever brute of a footman it turned out to be quite a tongue-lashing, but restrained herself as she realized it was, in fact, Mr. Molesley: panting, dishevelled, and slightly green about his cheeks and lips.

Robbie Branson, the brave explorer of servants' halls, had been momentarily forgotten as Lady Grantham, both of her daughters present in the drawing room and the Dowager Countess sprang to their feet (or raised themselves proudly from their seats, in the latter case). "Is it time?" Lady Cora asked, breathless, placing one hand over her heart as if to stop it from jumping straight out of her chest.

Mr. Molesley nodded, still breathless. "Lady Mary… asked… for your ladyship… and Mrs. Branson…" he managed to say between taking sharp gasps of air as he unsuccessfully tried to compose himself. Fortunately enough, his presence alone had been correctly interpreted in the only possible way: Lady Mary Crawley has finally gone into her (ten days overdue) labour.

"We shall all go to the Crawley House, presently," said the Dowager Countess firmly, tapping her stick on the floor to add some gravity to her words. "Molesley, go to the garage and tell Pratt to bring the motor over. Robert, stop gaping and get ready! And Sybil, put the child down. Mrs. Carson won't mind taking care of him for another afternoon, will you, Mrs. Carson…?"

* * *

><p>"What would you have me say, then? 'Actually, your ladyship, this is my first half-day off that's coincided with my husband's since January'? Perhaps I should have added something about having my wicked way with you while I was at it?"<p>

Charles chuckled quietly and looked over to the boy, sitting in the middle of Elsie's settee and playing with a set of old wooden blocks that had been his mother's and his aunts' before him. "Might it have been the first time you didn't stand up to the Dowager Countess, wife?"

Elsie rolled her eyes and took a sip of the wine she had had to abandon in order to escort young Robbie upstairs. The drink was slowly turning stale—a very sad condition for the wine to be in. "Perhaps you'd like to write me a note I could present to her each time a situation like this arose? Complete with your signature, if you please?"

"And what exactly would you have me put on it? 'Kindly stop bothering my wife on the rare days when it is I who has the right to do so'? 'To whom it may concern: do note that Mrs. Carson is quite a passionate woman, and having her contain all her passion for too long might result in unleashing a real torrent of emotions we're all better off _not_ experiencing'?"

"Aye, that sounds just about right."

This time his chuckle was a little louder, and earned them a curious glance from Robbie. "Don't talk to me that way, unless you want the young rascal to get an eyeful of something he most definitely shouldn't be seeing for another twenty years," Charles muttered under his breath, taking hold of his wife's free hand and raising it to his lips. "I know we planned this day a little different… but since we seem to find ourselves in an unavoidable situation, why don't we try and make the best of it? How about a walk outside?..."

* * *

><p>"This was the best of ideas, husband," Elsie whispered to Charles as she turned to take one last look at the scene behind them: Robbie sitting cross-legged on a colourful blanket, mouth slightly agape as he watched little Charlie Parks show him his wooden toys. Charlie's mother, Mrs. Ethel Watkins, previously a disgraced housemaid of Downton and presently a new wife of one of the estate tenants whose wife and daughter succumbed to the Spanish flu almost three years ago, sat by them, gently stroking the prominent swell of her belly and keeping a sharp eye on both boys.<p>

They bumped into Ethel and Charlie having a picnic on a nearby meadow not five minutes after leaving the house, and as the other two offered to take care of Robbie for an hour or so, Elsie didn't hesitate much before jumping at the chance of having her husband just for herself.

"I'm glad you approve," was Charles' answer to her praise, followed by pressing the hand she held in the crook of his arm a little tighter against his side. "And I intend to make the best possible use of our time alone…"

* * *

><p>"Hush now, somebody will hear," she whispered and kissed him, swallowing the moan that threatened to escape his lips. He responded eagerly and caressed her back through the thin fabric of her slip. They were on the settee, theoretically lying side by side but practically entwined so completely it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began, with most of their clothes scattered carelessly around them. As she arched her back and angled her hips into his once more, he thrust forward with slightly more force, making her stifle a moan in turn. She wrapped one leg, still clad in a silk stocking as per Charles' request, around his upper thigh, and bit his shoulder playfully.<p>

"Was that a revenge?" she asked, scratching her fingernails down his spine, matching each of his moves with her own. He bowed his head and trailed his lips alongside her neck, latching them to the sensitive spot just below her ear. It was usually her undoing, and this time proved no different: she shivered, clenching her muscles and pulling him with her, until they lay, spent, breathing heavily and exchanging hot, sloppy kisses, basking in the afterglow of their shared passion.

"We really should work on a better system," Elsie remarked after several slow minutes, getting up and retrieving her underclothes from under Charles's desk. "Too many things get torn or misplaced, and I cannot spend all my days re-sewing buttons onto clothes."

Her husband groaned, still lying flat on the settee, apparently unable to move. "I cannot deny that having an actual bed we could _stay_ in afterwards would be a nice change… My back would certainly appreciate it."

"As would mine," Elsie sighed, refastening her corset with remarkable swiftness she'd earned during her married life. "You'd think that, after allowing us to marry, his lordship would at least consider arranging the proper living quarters for us! How is it possible that, after having been married for close to two years, we still have separate bedrooms?"

Charles ran a hand over his face and sat up, ready to make the same argument he always had when this particular topic arose. "He _did_ offer us a cottage, Elsie. And if I'm not mistaken, it was _you_ who refused to move, claiming we had far too much work to stay away from the house."

"Only because I hoped he'd come up with some other solution! Why not make some adjustments upstairs, connect some rooms the way it was done here? Nobody protested when we suggested having a bigger office; why would a bigger, and _shared_, bedroom, be a problem?"

"Perhaps his lordship couldn't fathom why we would require to share the sleeping quarters in the first place?" Charles mused, standing up and coming closer to Elsie to take over the monotonous task of doing up the countless buttons of her dress—he found that he liked dressing her almost as much as reversing the process—_almost_ being the operative word. Smiling with content, he lowered his lips to her shoulder and kissed it gently, running the tip of his tongue over her skin, slightly blushed from their earlier activities. "Perhaps he thought us both too advanced in age to still find pleasure in the union of the flesh?"

"Then he had been seriously mistaken," she answered with a slight tremble in her voice and extracted herself from his arms with one last kiss placed upon his jaw. "Perhaps I had been, too."

Charles furrowed his brow, looking down at Elsie in astonishment. "Are you saying that you wish to take his lordship up on his offer and move away from the house?"

She nodded and handed him his shirt, walking over to the mirror to fix her hair. "This isn't working, Charles. We _are_ getting older, and I believe there's no shame in wanting some more comfort from life. Such as a bed neither of us has to sneak into."

He did up his buttons and reached for his waistcoat, eyes still fixed upon Elsie. "This will be quite a change for both of us, though. Especially now, with all the commotion—"

"Charles, let's be realistic—there's _always_ going to be a commotion of some kind! The Bransons visiting, Lady Mary having her child, perhaps Lady Edith shall fall in love and want to get married soon? If we wait for the right moment, it might never come to us."

Charles fixed his collar and reached for his jacket, pausing to run his hands against the impeccably cleaned fabric. "This isn't a proper thing to say for a housekeeper, Mrs. Carson."

"I have been a housekeeper for a long time, _Mr. Carson_. And now I'm ready to be _me_ for a change."

He shrugged on his jacket, checked his appearance in the mirror and nodded. "So be it. If you wish to try this new arrangement, I'm fully behind you, wife—although I do believe we're up for a bumpy ride, at least in the beginning."

Her eyes glittered as she stood on tiptoe and kissed him briefly, smiling in a way that lifted at least twenty years off her shoulders. "Thank you, Charles. We can make this work, I believe… not to mention the fact that, should we have a more comfortable lodging at our disposal, I wouldn't have to restrain myself and express my happiness only by means of words…"

"Does this stay true when your _un_happiness is concerned? For if you're planning on hurling any plates in my direction, I might be forced to reconsider what I've just said—"

She scoffed and punched him playfully on the chest. The positively wicked gleam in her eyes made him want to scoop her up in his arms and restart what they'd finished mere minutes ago—but they were interrupted, to their mutual dismay, by a sharp knock on the door.

"We'll be off then, Mrs. Carson, Mr. Carson," Ethel said, leading Robbie into the former housekeeper sitting room and handing the small basket containing his things over to his peers. "Did you have a nice time?"

'Nice' was quite an understatement as far as Elsie was concerned, but she would never let the young woman know that. "Thank you, Ethel," she said instead with as much dignity as she could muster, "we have managed to reach several vital conclusions in our… arguments. It was a time well spent."

_And an extremely pleasurable one_, she thought to herself as she watched Charles lead Robbie away to the kitchen in pursuit of tea and biscuits (and, if Mrs. Patmore was so inclined, apple tart).

She looked around herself, taking in the walls and furniture that had become silent witnesses to so many things, good or bad, in the many years she'd spent in Downton. This place was _hers_ because she made it so, tamed it to her hand; but it wasn't _hers_ the way she knew Charles' heart to be—because it had been given to her willingly, to have and to hold. Knowing the latter, she could no longer feel satisfied with the former.

It was time for a change. And not only the one she'd told Charles about. But today was not the day to put it up for discussion. Not here, not now… not yet.

Sighing, she silently followed her husband and Robbie into the kitchen.

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><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Hello! Thank you very much for all your wonderful reviews, I'm so glad you haven't grown tired with the 'Improper' stories yet! Sorry it took me so long to update it—a tiresome business trip got in the way, and then I conjured a (hopefully) clever way to combine the plot of this story with 'The Finer Things', which took up some of my time. That said, you should probably catch up with TFT before you start reading this chapter; it will make just enough sense if you don't, but the other story might provide you with a helpful insight into the past…_

_Oh, and yes, this chapter is slightly on the angsty side, and there's a scene in it that makes it not exactly suitable for reading at work, or a college library._

_Reviews are love, and make me write faster!_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2, or: When Past and Present Overlap<strong>

A soft, warm touch to her shoulder woke her up; she blinked, disoriented, and realized she'd fallen asleep on the top of the covers of Robbie's bed, half-sitting with her (now painfully sore) back against the headboard and only her shoes removed before she'd moved into that position.

How did she manage to get herself into such a state? Oh, yes: the young rascal demanded a bedtime story, and another, and _another_—and all she could possibly do to prevent herself from falling off a chair was to sit next to him. And then he started to fuss and didn't want to be left alone, so she took off her shoes and hugged him, humming lullabies until, as it turned out, they _both_ fell asleep.

She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, grabbed the shoes from the floor and quietly followed Anna out of the room. "What time is it?" she whispered as she soundlessly closed the door.

"Almost six. I thought you might want to leave before Daisy came in to stock the fireplace."

"Quite right. Thank you, Anna. And I'm sorry for leaving you on your own last night."

The younger woman smiled, following Elsie down the stairs. "It was a quiet evening. Only his lordship came back, and Miss O'Brien went over to the Crawley House to assist the ladies. There's no telling when they might be back."

As they entered a slightly better lit corridor, Elsie took a moment to contemplate Anna's face. She didn't follow Lady Mary to the Crawley House after the wedding, opting to stay at the Abbey, but she certainly had many warm feelings for her. "Don't worry, she'll get through this. She's a strong one, Lady Mary."

Anna nodded and sighed. "I know she is. It's just… first there was nothing for almost two years, and now she's in so much pain. What if she couldn't have more children? What if…"

_What if it's a girl_, Elsie finished the sentence in her head and reached out to pat Anna's hand reassuringly. "We will cross this border once we come to it. It's too early to speculate now."

"You're right, Mrs. Carson, of course you are. I'm only getting… emotional, I suppose."

"Nothing a good cup of tea wouldn't mend. Would you make a fresh pot and bring it to my office? I'd like a word with you before everybody gets here."

She watched Anna's back as she walked away in the general direction of the kitchen, and sighed. She had been planning on having this conversation with her sometime soon, yes—but was _today_ of all days the right moment for it?

Yes, she reasoned with herself, taking the pins out of her hair to brush it out after the night. It was yet another thing there was _no right moment_ for—and it had to be done, sooner rather than later, judging from the easiness with which her strength seemed to exhaust itself recently, and the time it took her to get it back. She could probably cope well enough with her housekeeper duties, but if Mrs. Branson expected her to take care of little Robbie on top of everything else, the situation might easily slip out of control.

It was time to stop thinking, and start to actually _make things happen_.

Fortunately, 'making things happen' was one of the things Elsie Carson was best at.

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><p>"I believe we should talk, milord."<p>

Lord Grantham put his teacup back on its saucer and gestured towards one of the long, low sofas standing in the middle of the library. "I think we might both want to sit down for this."

So sit they did, on the opposite ends of the sofa, looking at each other with respect, understanding, and gravity. Sitting here like this brought some memories on—not the happiest ones, but very important all the same. Elsie held Lord Grantham's gaze with the same calm, courage and composure she had mustered fifteen years ago, when she took it upon herself to establish the impassable boundaries of their mutual relationship. His eyes were full of warmth and consideration: if he still harboured any inappropriate feelings for her, he took care to hide them deep in his heart. Elsie seriously doubted this was the case, but felt a surge of gratitude all the same.

She looked down at her hands, fingers twined, knuckles turning white as she pressed them firmly together. She had everything planned, every word, every argument, yet she found herself at a complete loss over what to say.

He helped her out, smiling gently. "Is this about your future, Mrs. Carson?"

She nodded, relieved to know he understood. "Yes, milord. I think it's time I reconsidered your kind offer of a cottage for my husband and myself, should you still wish to provide us with one."

Robert nodded and surprised her to no end by reaching out and covering her hands with one of his. "Consider it done. There's one particularly nice place right around the corner; I have kept the potential tenants away in hope Carson and yourself might change your mind someday."

"Thank you, milord, that is very kind of you—" She paused as his fingers tightened around hers, making her blush ever so slightly.

"And is this change of venue the only thing you wished to discuss with me?"

She shook her head, biting her lip and pleading silently for his understanding. The decision has been made, but she still wasn't ready to say the words out loud.

He looked down at their hands and nodded, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand. "I feared the moment would come one day, and it seems that it has."

"None of us can stay young forever, milord. The change comes to us, whether we want it or not."

"I fear the truth in your words, Mrs. Carson. And yet, I cannot do anything but grant you your wish."

They sat in silence for a long while, until Lord Grantham chuckled mirthlessly and let go for her hands. "Look at us, mourning the loss of the past when we should be looking forward to the future!... How soon would you like the 'transition' to take place? And who will be brave enough to step into your shoes?"

"I believe Anna Bates is more than ready to take over, milord. And I hope you won't find me ungrateful if I tell you I'd rather have it done as soon as possible. I would still stay close to the family, albeit in a slightly different capacity…"

"My grandson. Of course. He prefers your company to that of his blood relatives, and I would hate to deprive him of it. And speaking of the young Master Branson: would you care to take him for a walk this afternoon? I could join you and show you the cottage I had in mind; we might determine how long it would take for you to move in."

She offered him a smile and a nod, once more overwhelmed with gratitude. "Thank you, milord, that would be most kind." Seeing that there was nothing else to discuss, she stood up and brushed at her skirt, getting ready to leave.

Lord Grantham surprised her again, reaching out and taking her hand. "You are going to be missed, Mrs. Carson, by everyone—including me. Perhaps _especially _by me."

"Milord, that is really—"

The door behind them opened with a squeak, and Charles walked into the room with a letter in his hand.

Elsie hoped she managed to slide her hand out of Lord Grantham's grasp fast enough, but given the frown on her husband's face she probably didn't.

"A telegram from Mr. Murray, your lordship," Charles announced, letting a slight bite be heard in his voice. Lord Grantham didn't seem bothered by it.

"Thank you, Carson. And as for you, Mrs. Carson—please be ready at half past two."

"Certainly, milord," answered Elsie, taking her cue to leave the scene.

She hope Charles had some other matters to discuss with his lordship, which would have enabled her to get downstairs and find herself something to do while she thought up a cover story for the whole situation—alas, her husband caught up with her mere seconds later, and he was certainly not amused.

"What was that all about, wife?"

"What was _what_ all about, husband?"

He huffed impatiently, stopping her in the tracks and coming to stand two steps below her, bringing their faces to the same level. "That conversation you'd been having with his lordship. _In the library_, no less."

"Do you have something in particular against the room?"

"I do, if I walk into it and find you alone with our employer. It brings back memories, and not the nicest ones, too."

She quirked an eyebrow, amused by his antics. "Are you trying to tell me that you're jealous of him? After all these years?"

He seemed rather uncomfortable with the admission, but offered it to her anyway. "Always."

Suddenly Elsie knew _exactly_ how to make her husband forget the whole thing—at least for the time being. "Why, Charles Carson," she purred, sliding her hands over his shoulders and to the back of his neck, "I never knew you could be _that_ possessive." She ran her fingers through his hair and leaned in, nipping at his chin. "I find it rather… exciting."

"Don't think you can distract me that easily, woman," she heard him grumble even as his hands rose to cup her bottom and pull her closer. She grinned and kissed him, massaging his scalp gently, noticing with satisfaction how his body turned hotter under her hands and lips.

"Elsie," he whispered in a thick, lustful voice, brushing her earlobe with his lips, "not that I oppose to this sort of behaviour—but are you _sure_ this is the right time and place for it?"

"The time, yes," she murmured, nuzzling at his neck as she arched into him, pushing him closer to the wall. "As for the place… any ideas?"

Charles kissed down her neck, purring like an overgrown cat when she bit his earlobe and soothed it with her tongue a moment later. "Not the office," he said with surprising sobriety. "Somebody would come looking for us soon enough."

"We could always go upstairs…"

"Thomas went to the attic to sort out some of his lordship's fall jackets. If he sees us, we won't hear the end of it. Figuratively speaking."

Elsie sighed, feigning resignation, and pulled away, leaving her hands on the lapels of Charles' jacket. "Well then, I believe we have no choice but to—" She almost squealed in shock as he pulled her right back, flush against him.

"You are _not_ leaving me now, woman," he growled against her lips. "And I might have just the solution to this problem…"

* * *

><p>It wasn't pretty, it wasn't clean, and her body should have protested against being subjected to such hardship—it probably would, in a few hours—but none if it mattered. Not the dust hanging in the air, not the musty smell of the cellar, not the cold wall she was pressed up against…<p>

None of those things mattered, because they were here _together_, in the middle of the morning when they should have been _working_, bodies sliding against one another, hands joined on the slightly damp surface of the wall by Elsie's hips, eyes locked, conveying all the emotions, all the truths they both knew so well.

_I love you._

_Don't make me lie to you._

_You can tell me everything._

_No, I can't, not yet._

_When you're ready, I'll be here._

_I love you._

Charles hoisted her up a little higher, changing the angle, but not the force of his thrusts. It made Elsie moan into his bare shoulder and bite the tender skin there—she had never expected herself to be partial to such fierce lovemaking, but even before they married she'd discovered that Charles, tender and attentive as he was, could bring that part of her personality out into the light, make her surrender completely to instinct, undo all of her composure…

Especially when he rolled her nipple between his fingers like _this_.

She was planning to make her husband forget about the things that came to pass this very morning, but didn't take into account a possibility of herself being just as affected by their actions. It was a _very_ pleasant side-effect.

* * *

><p>They went back to their respective tasks a good while later, Elsie's conversation with Lord Grantham completely forgotten by Charles—but not by his wife.<p>

She still had a walk to take, and a cottage to see. And then… Then it would all be true, once and for all, and she would have to tell him.

Then. But not now.

For now, everything could stay the way it was. Even if only for a few hours more.

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** I'm very sorry for the delay! My Muse demanded I wrote a 'Lovejoy' one-shot, and then the real life interfered in a very unpleasant way… Enough of the excuses; I'm bringing you a new chapter, and hope you enjoy it—especially since I feel that I don't do the kind of atmosphere I'd created here very well. Let me know what you thought?..._

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><p>The door opened with a loud squeak that made them wince. Elsie looked at Robbie's disgusted face and laughed, caressing his hair gently. "Some butter on the hinges should help."<p>

"Let's hope this will be your biggest problem," Lord Grantham nodded and entered the cottage, looking around apprehensively. "Not bad, I suppose, though I suspect you'd want to have it cleaned properly before you move in…"

"That goes without saying," Elsie nodded as she walked slowly across the light, spacious kitchen, into the slightly smaller bedroom with windows overlooking west, and another room on the southern side of the house that could be easily turned into a study. It was all quite dusty, sparsely furnished and unkempt, but she could see what this place could become after giving it a proper going-over: a home.

Her home._ Their_ home.

She heard Lord Grantham click his tongue disapprovingly, and turned to find young Robbie perched upon an old, dusty chest in the corner of the room. "Elsie, Elsie!" he cried, reaching out to her. She chuckled and walked over to scoop him up into her arms, revelling in the feel of a warm, soft body pressed against hers, and a pair and small hands clasped behind her neck.

"Now, young man, is that the proper way for you to call Mrs. Carson?" Robert came over and gently patted his grandson on the behind. "I'm very sorry. He shouldn't be calling you that."

Elsie raised her eyebrows, hugging the boy a little tighter. "Why not? 'Mrs. Carson' is far too difficult for him to say, and I'm neither his relative nor his nanny—what would you have him call me, milord?"

"You might be right," her employer nodded with a thoughtful expression on his face. "I have never thought about it that way…"

"Milord? Pardon my asking, but _why_ is there no nanny?"

It was the first time she'd seen Lord Grantham roll his eyes. "Sybil believed herself more than capable of taking care of her child without any 'outside help', as she likes to call it. As you can see, it isn't exactly so."

Elsie smiled, feeling Robbie's body go limp in her arms as the boy dozed off. "Milord, I will only say it once, but please believe me when I do: I do not mind taking care of little Robert, not in the slightest."

"Even though his arrival made you come to the decision of retiring?"

She shook her head, heading outside of the cottage with the sleeping child in the arms. Robert jumped forward to hold the door for her in a perfect imitation of a footman. It earned him a real, bright smile. "I don't think he made me _decide_, your lordship. Although perhaps he did make it _easier_ for me to be honest with myself for once."

Robert watched her carefully as he closed the door and handed her the key. She took it and slipped it into her pocket, not wanting to attach it to the chain at her waist. She would be giving it up soon enough.

The thought was cold and strange, and it made her sigh and lower her gaze, not wanting to meet her employer's questioning eyes.

"Mrs. Carson?"

"Yes, your lordship?"

"I trust you have been happy at Downton…?"

At this she did look at him, hardly seeing him through a moist mist that seemed to fill up her eyes to the brim. "I have, milord. Very much."

He smiled and handed her a handkerchief, taking Robbie out of her arms and propping him up against his own shoulder. The boy hardly stirred. "In that case, I hope you'll be even happier after you leave us. You will be missed—you already know that—but I'd be happy to know you'll be exchanging one kind of happiness for another, not giving it up altogether."

"I have absolutely no doubt it will be just the case, milord."

"Very well then." They started to walk slowly towards the Abbey, and Elsie frowned as the setting sun shone straight into her face. "And when does Carson plan to leave us?"

She frowned even more. "Why would he leave, milord?"

"Isn't he planning to join you in your retirement? I thought that was what he'd like."

"I—didn't tell him anything yet, milord."

His lordship actually stopped in his tracks at that, gaping at her in astonishment. "You didn't? Why?"

"It's very difficult for me, milord. Far more difficult than I'd imagined it would be. I—I wish to take it all step by step, as slowly as possible, and it would be quite a big step, telling my husband a thing like that—"

"Like _what_, precisely?" Charles' voice came from behind them, making both Elsie and Lord Grantham gasp and cringe inwardly. "Good afternoon, your lordship. I didn't know you were planning a walk for today."

* * *

><p>Lord Grantham left hurriedly, pleading that he needed to take Robbie home and check on the state of things over at Crawley House; Elsie wished she had but a shadow of an excuse to follow him into the house and put the conversation she was about to have off until the evening. She had been planning to talk to Charles on this very day anyway, especially since she'd already seen the cottage and genuinely liked it, but were she to be completely honest with herself she'd have to admit that, whatever the point of discussion would be, she liked it best to have any and all serious conversations with her husband in the relative privacy of one of their respective bedrooms. She found Charles much more… manageable… in a room that contained a bed.<p>

Be it as it may, there was no way she could have possibly dismissed him now. Taking a deep, slow breath to calm herself, she met his cloudy eyes with a solemn gaze of her own. "Charles, my love, there is something I need to tell you."

"I gathered that much," he pointed out, without any real venom in his voice: just concern, and a touch of curiosity. "And it must be quite serious, too, if you feel obliged to use any kind of endearments."

She gave him a hard look and pursed her lips. "I would have you know, Charles Carson, that I _do_ use 'endearments', as you call it, quite often—as often, in fact, as you deserve one."

Charles sighed in exasperation and took her hand, placing it gently in the crook of his elbow. "You know very well I'm only teasing you—and you use it as a diversion to distract me from demanding an answer to my question. What is going on, Elsie? You haven't been quite yourself these past few days, and now I'm seeing you having secret conversations with his lordship everywhere I go…"

"They are _not_ secret! They're simply… private."

"Very well, _private_. Would you still care to share with me what they were about?"

"My retirement."

Two simple words—they were out of her mouth before she even had the time to register them properly—and still, probably the most terrifying thing she's ever had to say aloud. She kept her eyes down, walking slowly beside her husband, towards the house that brought them together and that would soon stopped being 'theirs', even in the limited, artificial capacity it has been until now. She felt as if she'd been enveloped by thick, white fog, muffling all the sensations picked up by her senses, making her numb, numb and emotionless…

"You have decided, then."

She blinked and looked up at him, genuinely surprised. "You _knew_ I was planning it?"

Charles shook his head, covering her hand with his. "I noticed you have been tired recently. I heard you talk to Anna several times since last winter: you were instructing her far beyond the scope of a head housemaid's work: preparing her to take over after yourself. That's how I knew you'd been thinking about handing over the responsibility."

"And you… approve of it?"

He stopped and turned her to him, placing one hand gently under her chin, while the other wrapped securely around her waist. "Elsie, my dear, I want you to be happy. First and foremost: whether in service or not, whether in this house or not, I want you _happy_. If leaving Downton is what you need right now, then leave you shall—and in case you have any doubts about it, let me tell you that I do not plan on staying behind for too long."

Now _that_ could have made her faint, had she been prone to such foolish behaviour. "You may have to spell it out for me, Charles, for I cannot quite make myself believe my own ears."

He chuckled (_chuckled!_) at that, and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "Last summer, when I went to London with the family, I met a very promising young man, a Mr. George Wallace, an under-butler in Lady Cavesham's house. I took some time to get to know him and asked around about his reputation, which proved more than satisfactory. Then, when I started to suspect you might be considering retirement, I wrote to him, and asked whether he'd be interested in relocating to Yorkshire, should I decide to leave my post. He said yes, and we have been corresponding ever since."

"Have you told his lordship about this Mr. Wallace?"

"No, not yet—I wanted to be sure of your intentions. But since I already know what you're planning, I would very much like to have Mr. Wallace come and meet his lordship: as soon as possible."

This was too much to take in at once. "But you love your job! You love the family, and the house, and—"

"I do, Elsie. I cannot deny it. But I love _you_ more."

She sighed happily and let him pull her closer still, tucking her head under his chin. "We really should talk more, husband. Keeping secrets from each other does us no good."

"I'm glad we agree on this one, wife. Am I to understand you approve of my plans?"

"As much as you approve of mine, I daresay." She placed a short, tender kiss on the underside of his chin and took a step back, reaching up to straighten his jacket. "Shall we go back to the house, then, and inform our peers of them?"

The look in Charles' eyes was positively devious. "How about you show me that cottage first? I'm sure his lordship expects us to have quite a heated argument before we come to any agreement regarding your 'astonishing' news: and it wouldn't do the younger staff any good to have us come back before we reconciled..."

His hands caressed her back in the most enticing way, making her shiver in anticipation. "Would it be possible for us to... reconcile... despite never having argued in the first place?"

"As long as we found a proper place for such an activity..." He pulled her in for a kiss that made her head spin, and erased all thoughts of propriety from her mind.

"I'm sure something could be arranged—although we might we forced to do some dusting, first. Are you sure you don't mind performing such a tedious chore?"

"I'm sure there'll be more than a spoonful of 'sugar' to help this 'medicine' go down, my dear. Lead the way."

* * *

><p>Needless to say, they were almost late for ringing the dressing gong before dinner in the Abbey—but they left the cottage a little cleaner than it had been in the early afternoon.<p>

Although the cleanliness _did_ happen to concentrate upon the kitchen table.

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N:** Since the first story in the series ended with Charles and Elsie getting together, and the second with their pre-wedding night, I thought it only fitting to end this one on the day when they move in to their new house._

_Thank you for staying with me until the end, and I hope you enjoyed it at least as much as I did. I'm quite sure my Muse won't let me leave Charles and Elsie alone, so you may expect me to be back, bearing gifts in the form of fics, sooner rather than later. Stay safe!_

_PS. As a farewell present, I made this chapter VERY unsuitable for work/public libraries/the likes. Or perhaps any place with people in it. Ye be warned._

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><p>She was still half-buried in the wardrobe when the sound of light footsteps crossing the kitchen alerted her to somebody's presence. Must have been Robbie, whom she'd sent outside (upon his insistence to help) to fetch her hatbox. "Would you put it on the bed, dear?"<p>

"Of course, Mrs. Carson."

_Oh, curses._ "Lady Edith," she said breathlessly, pushing a strand of hair that escaped from the chignon off her cheek. "I'm sorry, I thought it was young Robert—"

The younger woman smiled and shook her head. "Please don't worry about it. It is I who should be sorry to barge in uninvited—I brought you something from Mama."

Elsie took the proffered package, most probably containing the set of moss-green curtains she'd admired a few years back; now, having gone out of fashion, they were no longer fit for the big house, but would do more than nicely in a cottage of the soon-to-be-ex-butler and his wife. Obviously a hand-me-down, but one she really appreciated. "Thank you, milady; please give my thanks to her ladyship—that's very considerate of her."

"Nonsense," Lady Edith shook her head, looking around the small room with unmasked curiosity. "You have done so much to us... I only wish we could have done more to thank you for everything."

Elsie smiled affectionately, gesturing for Lady Edith to sit down, which she did, on a low stool in front of an old vanity (a gift from Lady Mary). "Milady, your family has given me a _house_ to live in with my husband, which is the greatest token of your gratitude possible; and you let me take care of young Robert, which only serves to confirm the trust you have in me: what more could I possibly ask for from you?"

Lady Edith frowned, apparently not entirely convinced. "But would it be enough for you? After you have worked in such a big house, supervised so many people... wouldn't any other life seem boring after that? I remember how I felt when the war ended—so empty, so _useless_..."

Elsie smiled and sat down on the bed, dropping the dust cloth to the floor. "But you no longer feel that way, do you, milady? There's sir Anthony, and your articles—would you have given it up to have your 'nursing' job back?"

Edith bit her lip and shook her head, looking at Elsie with wide, awed eyes. "Not for the whole world!"

"And why is that? How does this _new_ life make you feel?"

There was a longer pause before Lady Edith finally answered, but when she did, she looked positively radiant. "Real. It makes me feel... real."

Elsie nodded, giving the young woman a bright smile of her own. "You see, milady—being here, married to Mr. Carson, makes _me_ feel real. If you had asked me about it two or three years ago, I would have told you that working as Downton's housekeeper was the most significant role I had to play in my life: but when I look at my life as a whole, I know it wasn't. Sometimes you have to wait for quite a while before the 'real' meaning of your life is revealed to you, but it always is—and when it happens, everything you've ever done, no matter how important or satisfying, no longer counts as important. And you start wondering how you could have ever lived without the thing that made you feel so complete..."

The floor in the kitchen squeaked, as if somebody snuck up close to the bedroom door, and stepped into the small study. Lady Edith seemed not to have noticed anything, her whole attention fixed on Elsie as she practically drank the words from her lips. "Mrs. Carson, that... that is probably the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me," she said after a long moment of silence, her voice trembling just so. "Thank you."

Elsie smiled, and gently touched the young woman's shoulder. "Don't forget to keep looking, milady, and you will surely find your own happiness."

Edith smiled at her and nodded eagerly as she stood up. "I will remember that. Thank you, again—and forgive me for having taken up so much of your time. Good day, Mrs. Carson."

Elsie waited until she heard the cottage doors close, and bent to pick up the discarded cloth. "Will you come out now?" she asked, her back to the door, as she placed the cloth on the window sill.

The floor squeaked again, and again, louder this time, and very soon a set of warm, male arms embraced Elsie from behind. "You heard me come in, then?"

"Of course I did. You shouldn't have eavesdropped, though, it's not very gentlemanly of you."

"I believe we established long ago I was no gentleman to begin with. You didn't seem to mind it at the time..." He bent his head and nipped playfully at the nape of her neck, making her moan in appreciation.

"I still don't m-mind... Charles, we cannot possibly..."

"Why not? We're at our _own_ home; I got the rest of the day off on account of the moving; everybody's gone back to the big house—do you have any other objections, wife?" Even as he asked her that, his lips continued to assault her skin, and his nimble fingers started to work on the fastenings of her dress.

"The door is open, somebody could come... _oh yes, just there_... Charles!" she jumped as she felt an unmistakable pulling of her skin, and turned around in his arms to glare at him. "You're going to leave a mark, dear."

"I already have," he admitted proudly, ghosting his fingers over her neck. "May I remind you that you don't have to care about such things anymore, since you're no longer _working in service_, my dear?"

He _had_ a point there... "What about the door?"

"I put the lock in place after Lady Edith left. Does that comfort you?"

"Not nearly enough," she purred, reaching up to push the jacket off his shoulders and loosen his tie, "but I know what would..."

* * *

><p>It was certainly the most liberating feeling: to know that she no longer had to bite her lip to stifle the sounds rising in her throat, but could simply throw her head back and moan right into Charles' ear, feeling his body arch against hers as she did. She never realized how much the way in which she verbalized (well, not exactly...) her pleasure excited him, too, but it seemed to have been having the most appreciated effect on hm.<p>

She also hadn't been aware of the extent to which Charles liked to mark her with his teeth. She most certainly didn't mind—but if the things progressed the way he clearly wanted them to, she'd be forced to wear a scarf around her neck for _weeks_.

Oh, well. There were things _she_ wanted to try out for quite some time now, and since his lordship's present for their new household had been a large, sturdy bed, she intended to test quite a few theories while she had the opportunity.

A well-timed lick on the edge of Charles' ear distracted him enough for her to make a good use of her leg muscles, perfectly toned during years and years of climbing endless flights of stairs, and roll them over (such a decadent feeling!) so that she could straddle his hips and sit up, spreading her hands across the wide plain of his chest. Charles smiled at her, surprised but not complaining, and reached up to take the last few pins out of her hair. She shook her head, letting a wave of curls fall across her shoulders, and leaned in for a slow, languid kiss.

"You're always so beautiful, my wife," he told her in a deep, husky voice, his fingers travelling up and down her back in long, delicate strokes. She arched her back, sighed happily and circled his nipple with her tongue, making him groan, the sound reverberating against her cheek. Yes, now she understood—hearing him made her even more impatient to have him than she could have ever imagined.

"Give it a few more years, and you shall change your mind," she murmured, busying herself with kissing a path down his torso, over his gently rounded abdomen, down to a small scar over his left hip: he told her he'd fallen off a fence as a child, and landed on his uncle's rake. She traced her tongue over the white, slightly puckered flesh, making Charles utter a sound she'd never heard from him before.

The one that he made a moment later, as she tasted him and made an even better use of her tongue, was even more wonderful to her ears.

When she was a young, innocent under-housemaid, she'd overheard some of the older girls talking about such a form of physical gratification—and although their opinion of it was mostly negative, bordering on finding the experience utterly degrading one for a woman to participate in, she had ever since wondered what it would be like to… Of course, for the greater part of her life these musings were absolutely theoretical (and Elsie wouldn't have had it any other way), but after 'coming to an agreement' with Charles she decided to indulge in that little fantasy of hers, and have a taste of things—in the most literal sense.

Unsurprisingly, given his caring, tender nature, Charles protested vehemently against participating in such an activity, as long as he was not the active party. Elsie didn't oppose of him having his share of herself, as it were, but demanded equal rights in the bedroom. After much protesting and grumbling about the 'undignified position' she would undoubtedly find herself in (as if it was the only one that came to mind…), he finally yielded: only to find that, despite his initial doubts, they both enjoyed it immensely.

Elsie thought there was nothing more overwhelming, in terms of lovemaking, than to perceive Charles' arousal not only through the sense touch, but by sight, smell and taste as well: and yet, when he loudly voiced his budding ecstasy, it added a whole new layer to her experiences in the matter.

It was as if they'd lost all of their inhibitions, their serious, professional selves, and any sense of propriety and gravity as they bolted the cottage doors and shaded the windows.

Perhaps they had.

After all, this was _their house,_ a point in time and space where and when they could be themselves—and they could do whatever they wished with it.

It turned out quite soon that, as much as he enjoyed his wife's attention, Charles had slightly different plans of the evening. He pulled Elsie up gently, kissing every inch of her face from the line of her hair, over to her eyelids, the tip of her nose and finally her lips, which still tasted of the promise of his release. They smiled and held each other's gaze as Charles rolled them over, clearly as appreciative of the extra space in bed as Elsie has been, and entered her, setting a slow, yet satisfying rhythm.

There was no need to hurry. No chores to run off to. No overly inquisitive servants pressing an ear against their door. No rules of propriety to be obeyed.

"Elsie," Charles breathed into her hair, caressing her breast with a skill than made her moan, "thank you… for what you said… earlier. To Lady Edith. It was… oh, _Elsie_—"

She leaned up and kissed him, hooking one leg around his hip and urging him on, feeling the white, hot coil of desire wind up inside her, tighter and hotter and more beautiful by every second. "It was the truth," she answered breathlessly, framing his face with her hands, committing each and every detail to her memory, as if forgetting him was even an option.

Charles kissed her again, more urgently, more passionately, pulling her a little higher, closer to that wonderful brink he would always help her cross with sure ease. "Always had been," he murmured against her lips, "always will be."

She felt a sudden urge to cry—happy, carefree tears—and did just that, burying her head in his shoulder and letting him feel rather than hear the last articulate word either of them would utter in some time,

"Always."

**The End**


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